


Under My Skin Like Opium

by Eisenschrott, itspixiesthings



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alien Biology, F/F, Hate Sex, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Past Violence, Speciesism, Villain PoV, dubcon elements, unhealthy crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 21:58:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11792307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itspixiesthings/pseuds/itspixiesthings
Summary: The Dark Side of the Force has given the Seventh Sister great powers; handling a crush on the Inquisitors' new nemesis in a healthy way is not one of them.





	Under My Skin Like Opium

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Imperial Big Bang challenge. Art by itspixiesthings, and Togruta anatomy headcanons come from fandumbandflummery's fic [_Practical Research_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10741437).  
>  Title from [_Poison_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9744dJx63w) by Rancid.
> 
> **Please heed the warning content tags!**

_It is the duel on Takobo City all over again. The two Jedi and the Lasat are down on the ground. The youngling burbles in fear. The Force around them is quivering, a feeble flame dreading the wind that is about to snuff it._

_Seventh smiles under the helmet faceplate. A few paces behind her, Fifth radiates bloodlust. She knows he feels hers in return. Their energies feed off of each other, and it’s an inebriating sensation that gives worth to all the sweat of teamwork._

_A breeze is enough to blow the flame out, and they are a storm brewing._

_Together they step towards the Jedi._

_The Dark Side howls a warning. They freeze in mid-stride, look up at the spaceport gate. It rumbles and slides open._

_At first there is just light. She isn’t sure whether the faceplate optical sensors and her own eyes are picking it up—they shouldn’t, the mask is there to help her see through intense light—or she is seeing a flash of the Force. A humanoid shape treads past the gate._

_Seventh disables the mask. The air stings with night chill and greasy city smells, but Seventh focuses her attention on the Togruta woman in front of them, no mystical halo surrounding her but the anodyne streetlights and the haze of dust the Jedi kicked up in their fall._

_The Force is strong with her, concentrated like an explosive in a powered-up detonator. The hairs on the back of Seventh’s neck are standing under the armorweave suit of her uniform._

_Of course they know who she is. The list of the Inquisitorius’ most wanted Jedi has her close to the top. Lord Vader gave them a reminder in person before they left for their mission on that abandoned medical station._

_The earnest, fearless stare Ahsoka Tano levels on them makes Seventh’s blood boil. She instantly wants to slice that look off Tano’s face._

_Two white lightsaber blades hiss into life in Tano’s hands. The Force broods with challenge; however, Tano being a Jedi, her signature lacks the burn of hatred and anger. Seventh wants to make her angry. Just the idea of ticking this proud Jedi off makes her feel hot in her uniform. “Unexpected,” says Seventh, “but not unwelcome.” She smirks as she speaks._

_Tano ignores her to instruct the young Jedi to get the youngling to the ship. Disrespectful tailheaded shit._

_Maybe Tano reads the gist of that thought, for she leaps into the air and attacks the Inquisitors from above. She goes first for Seventh. Red and white plasma blades cross and crackle. Seventh parries that blunt downwards hacking attack—blunt it may be, but it takes her all her strength and the help of Fifth to block it and push Tano away._

_Seventh counterattacks. Tano doesn’t seem to care about the Fifth Brother, his presence skulking behind them, just out of the bubble of concentration Seventh needs for the fight. In the corner of her eye Seventh spots their quarries stagger to their feet, prompted by Ezra Bridger with an Ithorian baby in his arms._

_A flash of white, then the red of Seventh’s lightsaber parrying and countering and parrying again—_

_Tano’s fist pounds into Seventh’s face, at the millisecond when Seventh is charging with an upward slash and her upper guard is defenceless. Nauseating spin, warm taste of blood. Seventh blinks, her eyes refocus on the cracks on the pavement—did her body made them upon impact?—then on Fifth being Force-pushed to the ground. Seventh jumps at Tano and they’re alone in the fight, Seventh has no idea for how long. It’s all very fast, steeped in the Dark Side, and time is meaningless. Fear gnaws at Seventh and she channels it into her body, her weapon, but even that is just enough to keep her on the defensive. She taunts Tano, too, a brainless line about the younglings and wanting to be a mother, the first thing that pops into her mind, and of course it doesn’t strike any raw nerve because Tano is a Jedi and Jedi never got the gist of parenthood._

_Then she spots Fifth on his feet again, running towards them. She smiles. Good old brother. She savours the ‘oh, poodoo’ expression breaking Tano’s composure for a moment. It makes Tano look almost cute._

_With a hasty Force push, Tano breaks free from the deadlock and vaults above Fifth. His saber slashes at the pavement where Tano had been standing an instant ago._

_Fifth stands at Seventh’s side. His presence renews the fighting glee in Seventh. Two trained Inquisitors against a Jedi who dropped out when still a Padawan; Tano is bantha fodder._

_Fifth charges like a rancor. Seventh has to halt midway through her own attack, for Tano has managed to spin him around her and he’s in the way of Seventh’s lightsaber, then Fifth is tossed by his own sprint head-first against a pillar. He sags to the ground. Idiot._

_Seventh hacks at Tano._ Bitch, you hurt my idiot brother _._

_Tano counters every blow and forces Seventh backwards, on the defensive, until she’s knocked to her knees with her back to a pillar. Tano regards Seventh like she would a stain on her boot, shuts down her lightsabers, and bows. Ahsoka Tano kriffing bows._

_She is so dead._

_Seventh jumps at her, both sabers lit and raised, the blades rotating at full speed._

_In this fashion, more than once she has cleaved opponents four times her size in two smoking halves._

_Tano blocks the attack. Bare-handed. Seventh feels the foreign pair of hands clutching the hilt of her lightsaber. Her feet skid to a stop. Tano is a steady wall of Force, and of the more mundane force in her taut biceps. Pushing is futile, that’s the first thing they teach you about saber fighting and deadlocks; Tano doesn’t budge even when Seventh tries to do the sensible thing, pull and disengage._

_Tano’s fingers move, or maybe it’s a tendril of the Force. Click, the sabers go off. Seventh gasps and stares, and in that dumbstruck fraction of second, Tano rips the lightsaber out of Seventh’s hold and tosses it away._

_Seventh’s body is a frozen rock, as they would say on Mirial—in Mirialan the phrase rhymes._

_She is dead. She is dead._

_It’s a blunter end than her feverish, fearful imagination ever pictured it: a Force push to the solar plexus that smashes Seventh against the pillar. By reflex she draws on the Dark Side to cushion the impact, saving her spine and internal organs. She is out cold for a few seconds, however. Breathing hurts. Moving hurts. Her ears ring and her field of vision is a black splotch._

_A rhythmic, thumping noise breaks through the ringing in Seventh’s ears. Combat boots crunching debris underfoot. The enemy, the quiet and steady and kriffing terrifying presence in the Force, is stepping nearer and nearer. Seventh breathes harder; that’s all her body can do._

_A lightsaber whirr. Faint smell of ozone whiffing close to Seventh’s nose._

_“You are beaten,” says Tano._

_With a shaky hand, Seventh pushes her helmet back and blinks, staring up at Tano. Before she has a chance to be defiant, to taunt and wheedle and buy herself time, the white saber arcs its tip downwards and plasma crackles meeting plasteel._

_It’s too fast, and Seventh is weak—no no no no, not weak, just a bit beaten up—and is this even the Jedi way…?_

_Seventh gawks down at the slash in her chest plate. It’s gone down to cut the armorweave suit underneath, but her skin is intact. And it is in view. Starkly pale straw-coloured skin peeking through the protective black and grey._

_The Force roars around Seventh, pins her shoulders to the pillar and her limbs to the ground, then at a waving of Tano’s unarmed hand it rips the damaged garment off of Seventh. Tano switches off the lightsaber and clips it to her belt._

_Sweat glistens between Seventh’s small breasts. The thin red line of her tattoos is exposed from the collarbone to the navel. Seventh is so taken aback she doesn’t even shiver in the cold night air, and in the anticipation of what her partial nakedness means._

_Answering her thoughts, which must be so loud even without reading her mind through the Force, Tano plants a booted foot in the middle of Seventh’s cleavage. A hard heel and a hard point rub over a few times, they find a nipple and mash it._

_“Is this the Jedi way?” There is genuine surprise in Seventh’s voice, and not just surprise. Well, she isn’t ashamed of that latter feeling._

_Tano plants her legs astride Seventh’s hips; her hands disappear under her shirt, rummaging at trousers zip level. “There is no Jedi way anymore,” those Togruta fangs are so cute when she snarls, “thanks to you.”_

_“My pleasure to be of service.” Seventh bows her head, returning the previous insult to Tano. Then she braces for a punch or a kick or a telekinetic chokehold._

_Tight-fitting trousers and a crumpled pair of panties roll halfway down to Tano’s muscular thighs._

_Tano lifts her shirt, just enough for Seventh to be at eye-level with the first Togruta cunt she ever sees. At least the first in a literal sense. Metaphorically speaking, that snivelling Togruta ex-Padawan boy Seventh shoved into a lava pit early in Inquisitor training took the prize for first cunt._

_The sight, anyway, is remarkable. The longer Seventh watches the length of the slit, the folds of wet flesh, and the primary clitoris swollen enough to be a little bit visible, the deeper she bites into her lower lip, the harder her heart beats, and the warmer her body feels._

_“I pity you so much,” Tano says in a low voice._

_Seventh huffs, arousal tingeing with annoyance. “Come on, drop that goody-two-shoes Light Side attitude and just admit you hate me. It’s liberating—”_

_The Force pushes Seventh’s face towards it. As if she even needs the nudge. Seventh mashes her face into Tano’s groin and goes straight for the clit, squeezes and suckles it between her lips and teeth and tongue._

_Tano lets out a growl. The Force that’s been binding Seventh melts off. Seventh smiles, her mouth full of Tano’s slick, sharp-smelling, salty flesh. She slaps a hand to Tano’s hip, reaching for the lightsaber—_

 

Kriff, her hand hurt. Seventh grunted under the coverlet and curled up, drawing on the Dark Side to smother the pain. That was easily taken care of. The clench in her crotch was quite another matter.

Her panties were wet. Seventh lifted her right leg off back onto the bunk—sleeping in any pose more dignified than a sprawl was beyond her powers, now that she had sleeping quarters all of her own—and as soon as her thighs rubbed together, she knew the tackiness wasn’t due to sweat. Kriff it.

Sighing the word for a long-extinct Mirialan bird’s shit, she sat up and waved a hand into the Force. Her injured hand. In the day cycle light that flooded the room, Seventh blocked a fresh wave of pain and studied her twisted finger joints and cracked skin. She had enough experience to tell they were broken.

At least the wall wasn’t dented.

Seventh kicked the coverlet off. That caused her shorties to rub against her cunt, and the jolt made her shiver and hiss.

She ignored the worried, questioning beeps from her seeker droids, awoken from stand-by mode by her noise. “I need a shower,” she grunted, “and someone to kill.” A tall cup of black caf would be nice as well. She shuffled over to the sonic shower cubicle, slipping her tank top off—moving her right hand made her flinch—and kicking off her shorties. Both garments were wet.

One of the droids hovered to pick at them with its spindly mechanical arms.

“Dump it in the dirty laundry chute or burn it, I don’t care.” Seventh couldn’t help a glance at the shorties. Her stomach roiled. “Actually, destroy those. Yes, the panties.”

The droid made another questioning beep.

“Because I said so!” Seventh stomped her bare foot on the floor. A wave of Force slammed the shrieking little droid and the soiled underclothes against the wall.

“You lot,” she turned to the rest of the droids, huddled together on the working shelf, “don’t just sit there gaping! Go fix your stupid brother.” With that, she entered the cubicle.

Sonic showers were practical space-saving tools and weren’t built to help you relax. The whirr of ISD-grade sonics gave the Fifth Brother headaches, and Seventh herself couldn’t fathom how Humans could find it not annoying, for all her species was quite close to Humans. She grit her teeth and focused on her body becoming clean, on her cunt unclenching, and on her hand not hurting—not hurting because she said so. _Stop hurting, Huttfucker_. Anger worked, it always did, for the Dark Side was infallible; but pain was harder to ignore without the adrenaline that kept rushing during combat.

As soon as the sonic chirped the end of the cleaning cycle and shut off, Seventh called to the droids, “Bring out the medkit!”

She slumped on the bed, Force-pushed her personal effects trunk open, and pulled a heap of laundered clothes on the crumpled coverlet. A droid flew over bringing the first aid medkit. It looked sheepish, but Seventh wasn’t in the mood for being nice to pets. She snatched the medkit, unfurled a roll of bacta gauze and bandaged her fingers tight. Then she got dressed, avoiding to look at her groin and at her chest until clean underclothes covered them.

Usually, donning the Inquisitor uniform was a confidence boost. This time, the motions and the familiar look of her body in it rekindled the dream scene: a white lightsaber slicing across the armour and the suit, stopping just short of hacking her ribcage open. Seventh gasped and shuddered. The shudder dug into her lower belly.

What if she just went with it, used her healthy hand to do what Ahsoka Tano was still too much of a Jedi to…?

“Oh, kriffing hells, no!” She punched the side of her helmet, activating the faceplate. Last damn thing she needed was some stormtrooper, officer, ISB agent or, worst of all, the Fifth Brother to see the flush on her cheeks. She Force-yanked the lightsaber to her hand. The grip touched her injured fingers, and Seventh hissed inside the helmet.

A droid let out a shy beep.

“No, I don’t need help! Any help at all!”

The droid backed off behind the shivering mass of its counterparts. Stupid weak-hearted AIs. She should hack them all off to pieces or crush them against the wall—

A ping in the helmet. The built-in comlink. Fifth Brother. Seventh bit her lip and marched out of her quarters as she spoke, setting the comm so that no sound would filter outside the helmet, “Yes, Brother?”

“You are late for the briefing.”

 _What briefing?_ , she almost asked before remembering that yes, a briefing with Admiral Konstantine and Agent Kallus was scheduled for this morning at 8:30. She also remembered rolling her eyes under the helmet at the uselessness and tediousness of it all. Which she did again now. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?”

“I did try to reach you through the Force.” His tone was sullen, even by Fifth’s standards. “But your mind was… clouded.”

“Just say you back-pedalled as soon as you saw I was half-naked in my dream, little Brother.”

“Make haste.” Fifth closed the comm.

Seventh laughed too loud for the helmet to sound-proof her voice. Two Navy techs, both young and female, one very dark-skinned and the other very light-skinned, who were walking down the corridor in her opposite direction, flinched and shot her a sideways look; a crack in their bland unmarked Human faces. Seventh didn’t flip her middle finger at them for the sole reason that it was among the broken ones on her right hand.

Seriously, though—Ahsoka Tano shoving her crotch in an Inquisitor’s face? It wasn’t, by a long shot, the most outlandish thing Seventh’s sexuality had dished out; it just pissed her off to have been the loser in reality as much as in its wet dream variant. She had even awoken before dealing the killing blow, or at least enjoying the sex.

She clenched her fists. The pain shooting up her right arm was welcome; fuel for the Dark Side. Some tailhead Grey Jedi, or whatever tripe such sentients called themselves, thought she’d one-upped and humiliated the Empire. The Inquisitorius. Seventh. The next Grand Inquisitor. Seventh was going to make her squeal for mercy. Then deny her that mercy, and laugh her arse off as she did. Also kill those two annoying Jedi boys.

Picturing delightful lightsaber burns on dead Human male bodies, she made her way to the _Relentless_ ’ command deck. As soon as she sauntered into the briefing room, the three men around the holochart table glared up at her.

“Having fun without me, gentlemen?” Seventh greeted.

“We have a _lead_ , ma’am,” Agent Kallus beat Admiral Konstantine to speak; he and the admiral exchanged a glance, and Konstantine clamped his mouth shut. Seventh sensed his outrage.

“Inquisitor,” Kallus turned to Fifth, “would you be so kind as to fill in your associate with the details so far?”

“Is that an order?” snapped Seventh. “To an Inquisitor, from the likes of you, _Agent_?”

“A simple suggestion to ease the work, ma’am.” Kallus’ presence in the Force was clear and still, radiating quiet strength. Unlike most beings, the man was a morning person.

“Yes, Sister,” Fifth stepped forward towards her, arms crossed, ugly small sharp teeth all showing, “allow me for a minute.”

Seventh followed him a few paces away from the holochart. “There have been reports of Rebel activity on Aquilaris.” _You are distressed_ , Fifth’s voice resounded in their bond across the Force. When they were so physically near each other, telepathy was as easy as if they were blood relatives. _And there is something wrong with your body_. He batted his white eyelids, glancing at her right hand.

“The Jedi?” _It’s just a scratch, but you’re cute when you worry about me_.

“They aren’t sure. A Togruta woman killed two officers and disappeared.”

Seventh’s heart raced. She missed out on what Fifth was yammering on in the Force bond.

“A few witnesses claim she had a lightsaber,” he continued.

“Then why aren’t we going after her this instant?”

“The witnesses were on spice. The ISB is working on extracting the truth.”

“Right, the ISB.” She didn’t care that Kallus could hear her.

“In the meantime, we are preparing plans.” _What is wrong with you, Sister?_

“Also in the meantime, Ahsoka Tano is packing up her things, maybe a Force-sensitive brat or two, and running! This is what is wrong, Brother.”

Fifth stood a bit straighter. His Force signature expanded, a shadow mass towering over him, fixed on her, warning. Typical Inquisitor bullying tactics. Seventh had seen and tried them all. She didn’t back off a centimetre.

Fifth’s voice remained very, very calm. “Did you get an omen about this? Has the Force revealed something to you?”

A tendril of his mind inched towards hers, and she swatted it away. “This isn’t for you to pry into.” _It’s insulting that you do, Brother. You should already know my mind is stronger than that. Break what’s left of my hand, then try again; maybe you’ll have better luck_.

“So it’s a no.” His grey, scaly face contracted in a snarl. _What if I did exactly that?_ A flash of teeth on tender mammalian flesh shot across the Force bond and into Seventh’s mind.

“I don’t like your lack of nuance, Brother. Only the Jedi deal in absolutes, you know?”

Fifth’s voice fell to a low rumble, “What are you hiding?”

“You didn’t see it? In my mind?” Grinning under the faceplate, Seventh fired off the most vivid fragment of the dream—the enemy standing spread-legged over her, the soft wet folds and the taste on Seventh’s tongue—into the Force bond.

Fifth took a staggering step backwards and hissed through his nostrils like if he’d breathed in poisonous gas.

“That brought you some clarity, I hope?” asked Seventh.

“I do not like being mocked.” His huge fist went for Seventh’s injured hand.

Seventh’s arm sprang back, eluding capture in the nick of time, and her knee shot up to knock Fifth’s hand away.

He was fast despite his bulk, had always been, faster than many rival Inquisitors in training assumed—his fingers stabbed through Seventh’s knee and she was lifted at dizzying speed towards the ceiling.

A glance of the holochart table, the upturned idiotic gawks of Konstantine and Kallus, who stood and did nothing. They pissed her off. Irritation fed anger and anger fed the Dark Side.

She dragged up her free foot, and the heavy duranium heel of her boot smashed into Fifth’s face. He grunted, his grip relented. The kick gave Seventh a spring, and she somersaulted in mid-air to land in a fighting stance, a safe dozen paces away from Fifth.

He was pinching his nose between forefingers and thumb and his nose made gross creaking noises. His free hand telekinetically called the lightsaber into its grip.

Seventh snatched and ignited hers. Strength of habit, and the painkilling power of the Dark Side, made her forget about the broken fingers—at least until she tried to tighten her grip. She snarled in pain, right when Fifth charged.

Two blaster bolts scorched the floor between them.

Fifth skidded to a halt. Both he and Seventh turned towards the holochart table.

Seventh slammed her faceplate open to shout better. “Agent! Is this an attempt at treason?”

“No, ma’am.” Half-crouched behind the holochart table, Kallus lowered the Lasat bo-rifle. His face was stern and serene, just like his Force signature. Admiral Konstantine, peering over the edge of the table at Kallus’ side, reeked of impotent fear and confusion like a tooka about to be run over by a speeder bike. Kallus went on, “Now that I have your attention again, may we please go back to the briefing? We cannot plan any actions without the Inquisitorius’ input, after all. Can we, Admiral?”

Konstantine’s puddle of stinky emotions spiked into white-hot rage. Then he stood up and smoothened his cap. “Aptly spoken, Agent.” His moustached upper lip gave a twitch. “Inquisitors, if you don’t mind...?” He gestured at the holochart table.

 _This is all your fault_ , Fifth blurted out in the telepathic bond, which Seventh shut off.

The two lightsaber were switched off at the same time. “Of course, Admiral,” said Seventh, back to calmness and evenness. “My Brother has supplied me all the details I needed to know.”

Despite Fifth having longer legs, Seventh got to the table first. The brief fight had burned off a lot of her initial foul mood; just a glance at the charts and the data boxes filled her in on the technicalities better than Fifth could have done if he had tried for real.

A mouse droid skittered out of nowhere and started scrubbing at the blaster scorch marks on the floor.

Seventh sensed Fifth’s brooding, projected into the Force and on his ugly face: ‘Notice how angry at you I am, Sister, notice it!’, it said. It was funny, and sometimes she would glance in his direction and offer a smirk, then focus again on the hunt. Briefings may be boring but there was a beauty and a thrill in this phase of the hunt: the planning stage, the hypothetical routes to plot, the planets and their inhabitants who could have an interest in aiding Rebels, and the way they might do that.

Seventh found herself soon growing restless again. The Force was silent. Fifth’s unrelenting bad mood wasn’t so easy to ignore anymore, as it now stood alone in a void. A mirror to the broken, aching bones on her healthy body, otherwise ready for the fight.

“Your opinion, Inquisitors?” Kallus would ask—and less often would Konstantine. He would look at Fifth and Seventh, Fifth would stay silent, and Seventh would always answer. On any other day, she would have relished in the role of the brain to his brawn; today it grated. Like Fifth was freeloading on her hard work. Seventh said nothing to him, offered the two Force-blind idiots here whatever suggestion they needed, and projected a cranky aura back at Fifth.

“Your opinion on this, Inquisitors?” And this, and this, and that. Seventh bit her tongue to avoid snapping whenever the officers spoke, over and over again, to Fifth and her in the plural. Hadn’t they noticed who was doing the actual work here?

Projecting her own sulk, however, had no effect on Fifth. He’d always been good at sulking longer and harder than any other youngling in the Inquisitorius training. Sometimes, out of frustration, they lashed at him and that was when he caught them off guard and beat them up, Force-choked them, or Force-shoved them over a railing and into the magma rivers.

This required a smarter approach.

Seventh relaxed a bit, listening to the admiral and the agent babble and theorise and—just a bit deeper under the professional mask—disagree with each other. Ahsoka Tano was the target of the chase. Eluding them, laughing in the face of these men’s idiotic squabbles. No, not laughing. A Jedi could be boring enough as to swear not to ever smile again until the Empire was taken down. She would be bowing, or waving them goodbye, with her pretty face schooled into the seriousness of someone who carries the weight of the galaxy on her shoulders. Pretentious hero complex banthacrap.

Seventh narrowed her eyes, cast down on the shiny web of holograms. Her focus shifted, her mind grabbed onto the Force and barged into it.

 

_She slaps a hand to Tano’s hip, reaching for the lightsaber. The next moments pass in a spin and a flash of pain, then she’s up to her feet, an invisible but relentless vice holding her up, shoved with her back against the pillar. Tano’s hand clenches Seventh’s wrists over her head._

_“Damn you,” Seventh says. The anger at Tano is for one-upping her again, surely not for the whole stripping and facialling thing. “You could have just told me you weren’t liking it. Manners—” The sentence ends in an ‘oof’ as Tano thrusts her hips up, to grind her bared mound hard against Seventh._

_Tano's free hand slips between the rough synth-leather of her own cuirass and Seventh’s sweat-oily skin, raking one breast, the cleft in-between as if to rip Seventh’s pummelling heart underneath, the other breast. Seventh can feel her nipples bleed. She hisses in pain and pain fuels the challenge, the desire._

_Her legs struggle against the Force to finally wrap around Tano’s waist and pull her closer, boot heels on bare arsecheeks whose muscles are as taut as metal._

_Seventh buries her face in the nook of Tano’s neck, smiling when the hard edge of her helmet knocks somewhere on the other woman’s face. “You could beat me up so easily in battle,” she breaths into Tano’s ear, “and now—now this is all you can do to me?”_

_The grinding gets faster, heavier. Seventh groans at the constriction of her nether clothes, she isn’t sure whether the wetness down there is sweat or juices._

_“Har—harder, you useless—Jedi scum.” She runs her tongue on a white-and-blue striped lekku, then nips at it._

_Tano growls back._

 

“That’s too much!” Fifth’s boots stomped on the durasteel, scaring the mouse droid off when the blaster burn stains were almost faded. “If you cannot take this seriously, Sister, fail for yourself.”

The briefing room door slid shut behind him.

“What has just happened?” Kallus asked quietly. Then, “Inquisitor, ma’am, are you... all right?”

Seventh became suddenly aware of the heat in her cheeks. They must be dark with flush. Also, she was holding onto the edge of the holochart table, her groin touched against it and she quite wanted to rub the sensitive spots on that hard surface.

“Of course I am, Agent,” she replied with strain making her voice low and gravelly, looking Kallus dead in the eye.

His eyebrows shot up and he broke eye contact. A spike of slick, evasive embarrassment jutted through his calm presence. “Well then, Admiral, we may set course to our agreed destination then?”

Seventh had missed out the part where they had agreed on that destination, and almost protested at not having been consulted. Then she thought better of it.

Konstantine gave them both a tart salute and trotted out, much too fast, to the command bridge.

As Seventh immediately found, walking was a torture. The friction of her clothes on her cunt made her want to scream, or make much more indecent noises. This was too much for just a bit of arousal in a dream. She must have unwittingly used the Force to stimulate herself, while she was immersed in it. Kriff. It hadn’t happened since she was a dumb pimply hormone-driven teenager.

A thick arm in a dark uniform appeared in front of her. “Hold on,” said Kallus, staring hard to the front.

“I don’t need help.”

“You were panting and sweating like a tauntaun on Tatooine. And you’re limping. Were you injured during that altercation with your fellow Inquisitor?”

“He’d like it. No.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Do I smell like a drinker to you?” Well, sometimes Humans had told her she smelled funny.

“Taken spices?”

Seventh grabbed his arm with the full intention of wring it and break it. Instead, Kallus slipped it across her shoulders, and supported her with ease as he walked. He knew how to make the position comfortable, she had to admit.

“Kriff, no,” she answered. “Careful there, damn it—I broke a few fingers.”

He let go of her right hand, moving his hold further up at her wrist. For being so large, his hands had a remarkable ability to deliver a gentle touch. “My apologies. Shall I accompany you to the medbay?”

“No need. The nearest turbolift will do.”

Kallus led her down the corridor. At the margin of her conscience, Seventh felt the presence of stormtroopers and petty officers, assorted crewmembers, an ostentation of indifference betraying their hastily hidden surprise and the insatiable curiosity of bored sailors on a long haul.

Even with Kallus acting as a crutch, every small movement her legs performed shot a hot pang all over her slit. Seventh put her focus to work on not moaning, not even once. It wasn’t the only problem: there was a big warm body touching hers, and her animal-in-heat brain corner had taken notice.

Well. She rolled her eyes to glare at Kallus, who kept his stare fixed to the way ahead. Not an unpleasant face for a Human; she had a sudden need to know what his squarely trimmed thick beard smelled like. He had freckles, too, which looked a little bit like Mirialan face marks if you used your imagination. Less of a turn-off than a lot of pink-skinned Human males. Maybe, just maybe...

Seventh flopped her head on his shoulder; she had to stretch up a bit, as he was taller than her. “I am going to ask you a quite direct question, Agent.”

“I am listening.”

“Are you interested in copulating?” She had not meant to _purr_ the question, but her voice did that on its own initiative.

He didn’t even break a step. His tightly controlled emotions crashed down for a heartbeat into a jumbled mass that recoiled and hissed, _NO_. “In principle, ma’am,” he asked, “or in particular?”

“You, me, either your quarters or mine. Now.”

“Speaking as someone who is utterly uninterested in the reproductive aspect, it is an effective system for burning off anger. That I know well enough.” A trace of smirk appeared on his almost-handsome pink and blond face. “I don’t know and don't wish to know what caused your upset today, but if copulation is of help, I doubt I have the authority to stop you in any case.”

Seventh rubbed against his flank, in part just to touch him, in part to shove him. “Is this a yes or a no?”

“Personally, however,” he continued as if she had not spoken at all, “I would prefer not to be involved with you. The ISB doesn’t take kindly to agents getting on too intimate terms with officials from different services.”

“Don’t try to throw these flimsi-pusher arguments at me, Agent.” She lifted her free hand, give a light squeeze into the Force, and the next thing that left Kallus’ mouth was a groan. He staggered and instinctively closed his legs.

Seventh laughed. “Enjoyed it?”

“Interesting... usage of the Force, ma’am.”

It was a bit of a surprise to hear an officer outside of the Inquisitorius to speak of the Force with such practical respect.

“You ought to take advantage of it on yourself. I’m sure it will be good enough.”

The grin on Seventh’s face twisted into a grimace. She didn’t know if he _knew_ or it was no more than a wild guess—he was right, he had guessed right, on a private thing of hers, and that pissed her off. “I don’t take _no_ for an answer.”

“Ma’am, the lift—”

Seventh raised her free hand again. She pushed her mind onto Kallus’. “You will come to my quarters and let me ride you into Wild Space.”

His mind, stiff and weak at the same time, swayed. “I will...”

Seventh’s right hand exploded with pain. Seventh howled, tried to pull it out of the strong grip of Kallus’ fist. A moment later, he pushed her away and his boot kicked her abdomen, the part the cuirass stupidly left unprotected. Seventh fell to the floor inside the cabin of a turbolift.

She caught a glimpse of a petty officer in the corridor gawking in their direction, then of Kallus' deadpan contemptous face. Seventh jumped to her feet and prepared to lunge at him, when the doors closed and the lift shuffled down.

A few minutes and several lightsaber scorches to the turbolift cabin later, Seventh had stomped to her quarters and stripped to her underclothes again. There wasn’t much for an Inquisitor to do on a Star Destroyer during these dull moments, beside standing on the bridge looking mendacious and daring her Brother to a ‘who can keep a straight face for longer’ competition when prying deep into the minds of crewmembers. So her presence wasn’t required anywhere else. She could ask—she could _demand_ Fifth that they spar, but kriff if she was too angry: if she killed that idiot—no way in the galaxy it could be the contrary—Lord Vader would be displeased. And she, alone, would bear the blame in front of him.

“Stand by, keep standing by!” she roared to the one seeker droid who dared perk up its antenna.

She sat down on the bed, elbows on her thighs, hands dangling. She flexed the right; the fingers still hurt and the bacta patches were coming unglued. Seventh closed her eyes and focussed on the injuries, assessing the severity. The verdict was: annoyance, but not worth hitting the medbay for. The Eighth Brother had claimed once that calling in sick was a sign of weakness, and Inquisitors who did so in a situation not related to combat were subjected to punishment. Eighth talked a lot of nerfshit, but Seventh didn’t want to test out that truth.

 _Agent Kallus, I hope you fall and break a leg, and the only sentient around to help you is a Rebel who wants you dead_.

Speaking of Rebels who wanted you dead...

Seventh tried a few circular, stroking hand motions, then hooking her fingers. The pain was bearable, but why risk worsening the injury? The Force could do the job just fine. Better, in fact.

She sat further back on the thin mattress (still softer than the bunks at the Inquisitorius academy), crossed her legs, closed her eyes and took deep, even breaths. Sith meditation was the best; it didn’t take a long boring amount of patience that filled your legs with cramps while you waited for inner peace to patch you through to the Force—you channelled your most intense emotion, anger usually, and lost yourself in it. The Dark Side did the rest. After the first, shiver-ridden moment of overwhelming fury, Seventh felt her consciousness float out of her body, free, unbound, hot with the awareness of its own power, eager to prove it against someone.

Someone to crush. Or—a creeping colder sensation slithered into her mind—to be crushed by. She hated whoever was going to crush her, for she knew someone would one day. Like the Grand Inquisitor himself before her.

Could that someone be Tano?

The hatred, a red and hot flame, blazed before her mind’s eyes. It took a humanoid shape. A horned humanoid shape, with big serious and incongruously blue eyes.

“ _Uh,”_ said Tano in the vision, _“is this why you hate me so much? Fine, I guess._ ”

Seventh lurched towards her.

All around the Force trembled, closed in, entrapping. Seventh wanted to flee, to escape back to her bunk on the _Relentless_ , or call Fifth for help—

 

_Tano does something with the Force. Fabric rips, Seventh gasps at the touch of cool air on suddenly naked and very wet skin._

_“Don’t shout,” says Tano. “Keep doing what you were doing. With your mouth.”_

_“This?” Seventh sinks her teeth in the lekku, suckles on the bite marks. Tano says nothing, but the tension in her body and in her aura is oh so evident. Seventh laves the headtail all the way down to Tano’s shoulder, smiling as her tongue stretches out and flutters. She nearly bites it off when Tano shoves her hips up and both bare cunts touch. Then grind against one another._

_Tano’s hands leave Seventh’s chest and grab her thighs, holding her higher and at a more comfortable angle—comfortable for Tano to pound, at least; Seventh moans and some of it is for the pang that shoots up her lower back, and the dislocation-like pain that’s pulling at her Force-pinned arms._

_The only thing Seventh can do is draw her legs tighter around Tano’s waist, and she does. Will crush the Jedi’s hips if she can. To her surprise, Seventh feels something pry its way into the folds of her cunt. A finger? No, they’re all busy clutching her thighs so hard the bruises will hurt for a standard week. One... one of the clits? Just the idea tears a moan out of her throat, and a greedy, hard contraction in her womb._

_That something slides in. And in, and in. Seventh slams her head back; either the pillar or the helmet cracks. Her head swims on the edge of fainting, but then Tano thrusts. It is so deep, so strong, that it can only be the Force. Is it ripping Seventh apart? Stars, it would be wonderful if it did._

_Seventh doesn’t have the time to catch her breath. Tano thrusts again, and again. The Force hums, like a sound wave rocking Seventh from within, and her body is overheating, overstimulated, and damn near over the edge. Her breaths come out in clipped whimpers._

_Tano mashes her face to Seventh’s throat, and Seventh half-coughs, half-moans, as the airway is constricted. With no armorweave to protect her neck, the sharp Togruta teeth nipping at her skin skate between arousing and terrifying. Tano could kill her with a bite._

_It’s a spark of lucidity. Growling, Seventh writhes against the Force restraining and penetrating her. Digs her boot heels deeper into Tano’s ass, twists her neck to bite at a segment of headtail._

_Tano staggers, and Seventh with her. Her arms drop on Tano’s shoulders and instantly winds around them; numb fingers rake headtails. Tano steadies herself and her mouth finds Seventh’s, to whom the sharp teeth are an invitation to push her tongue in deeper, lap harder into Tano’s mouth, dare her to bite. They make sloppy sounds like footfalls in half-melted snow._

_Tano uses the Force on Seventh’s cunt again. It is a gentler pressure—no, not so much gentler as more focussed, localised on single spots, the labia first, kneading and squeezing them, then the clit, and just the first squeeze takes Seventh’s breath away and makes her clutch onto Tano’s lekku._

_The reaction is a howl of pain. “Not like this!”_

_“Or... else?”_

_“Or else—I’ll use my lightsaber inside you.”_

_Seventh cackles, drunk on hormones and on the unrelenting touch. “Ohh, scary...! My first toy was a lightsaber, sweetheart. An Inquisitorius saber—ahh!” Seventh bucks hard against Tano. Kriff, the Force has guided this Jedi little poodoo to the G-spot. It keeps massaging there and Seventh squirms in the increasingly desperate attempt to swivel around something tangible, to return the maddening advance. But her muscles pulsate and clench, tighter and faster, around the void. And her most sensitive little part is being ground to stardust. The lights of a stellar core, then of a Kyber crystal, flare across Seventh’s mind._

_Then the Force stops. Just like that, all of a sudden. Seventh snarls and grinds onto Tano’s lap. “What in blazes is wrong with you?”_

_Tano has sweat popping all over her face, but she regales Seventh with a heavy-lidded smile. “You are so close, yet you’re still mouthing off. And here I’d assumed you were but a weakling.”_

_“You’ve been fucking Humans for too long... stupid tailhead.”_

_Tano drops her left hand from Seventh’s thigh. The helmet Seventh is still wearing picks up a soft click noise, amplifies it over the drumming heartbeat that fills Seventh’s ears._

_“Oh, kriff...”_

_“Unlike you, I take no for an answer.” Tano’s blue eyes are charged with question._

_There is an instant of hesitation, that surprises Seventh. Then she grabs the cold, metallic thing Tano is holding, and pushes it into her wet opening. “Who said it was a no?”_

_Without even a small smile of triumph, Tano shoves the whole hilt into Seventh. It’s hard and cold and too thin but it hits the right spots and Seventh rotates her hips to make it touch more, deeper. Tano pulls the saber down and thrusts it up again, and when her hand returns to Seventh’s breasts Seventh realises Tano is using the Force to operate the hilt._

_And she’s using sheer physical strength to swing Seventh back and forth at the saber’s pace. Seventh cannot even think of resisting, least of all attempt to impose her own pace, as if she has anything to complain about this one, fast and so very hard. If someone is to put the strongest Inquisitor in the galaxy to death, it kriffing better be a strong foe—even if it’s just a little death._

_Seventh bites her lips and tastes blood. She buries her panting face into Tano’s lekku. “I’m so close... Don’t stop, Jedi, don’t...”_

_“Now,” Tano orders the Force._

_The orgasm is so sudden that Seventh, breathless, rigid in a silent scream, believes the lightsaber has activated and skewered her. She clings onto Tano, smearing blood on the headtails, as the seismic waves rippling through her body peak and ebb away._

_She doesn’t feel a thing when Tano removes the lightsaber from her cunt. But she damn well feels it when Tano unceremoniously dumps Seventh to the ground._

_For the first few panting moments, Seventh is too weak to raise her head; she blinks until she clearly sees her swollen, bloodied crotch, her stomach and breasts covered with scratch marks. She turns to Tano, who’s already zipped up, the usual infuriating calm and stoic expression on her face, and clipping the lightsaber to her belt like what she’s done with it mere minutes ago had never taken place._

_Seventh gathers enough breath to say, “What’re you doing? You haven’t finished.”_

_“I won’t kill you. Not this time.”_

_“Not that, you dumb Jedi tailhead—”_

_“Please, I get that you hate the Jedi,” Tano rolls her eyes, “but could you at least cut the speciesist insults?”_

_“—you didn’t come!”_

_“I’m fine as it is.”_

_“You’re kidding.”_

_“My species has much better self-control than yours. I can switch my own arousal off like a bad circuit.”_

_Well, Seventh thinks, look who’s refusing to cut the speciesist insults now. “So you didn’t want to finish?”_

_“No. I cannot afford to make myself vulnerable to a volatile enemy.”_

_Seventh opens her mouth to further harp on Tano’s Jedi prudishness and her species’ physical features, then leaves it hanging open while her brain processes the thoughts through the post-coital fog: has Tano just called her a psychotic bitch? Is that a compliment, assessing her as an unpredictable and dangerous foe? Seventh chooses to believe it’s the second option. She sneers. “Ah, the typical Light Side cowardice. I bet you’d imagined a million times how it must feel to stick a lightsaber up your pink hyperlane, but never had the guts to try it on yourself. Haha! Do you even have enough room for it, with two clits in the way?”_

_Tano turns and starts towards the gate she strode in from._

_It’s an unpleasant reminder to Seventh that she has been defeated. “Are you going to think of me while you run from system to system seeking shelter, huh? Think of me and touching yourself? That’s why I’m here, eh? I’m here because you can’t take your mind off me!”_

_Tano cannot help a final look, her hieratic calm replaced by an expression approaching the more common ‘what the kriff’. She shakes her head. “You Darksiders, I swear. Even Ventress was less sorry a mess than you.” Waving her hands in a shoo motion, Tano resumes her exit._

_This would be the perfect chance for Seventh to snatch her lightsaber and hurl it at Tano while she has her back turned on her, but by the Force, she’s laughing too much, enough to tear the fabric of space and time and the galaxy all around her—_

 

She came to her senses with a gasp, mid-laughter, lying on her back on the usual grey bunk with the thin mattress.

Her throat was parched and raw, her lips were cracked and she tasted blood between her teeth. She touched her crotch and found her shorties torn and everything, fabric and her own tissue, clammy with come. Sweat coated the rest of her body.

A seeker droid, shaking like a Jawa before a Krayt dragon, was holding up towards her a folded change of clothes. Seventh used a pinch of the Force on her racing heart and straining lungs to ease her heavy breathing, and extended a hand to pat the droid’s head and then take the clothes. “Who’s a good boy?” she cooed in Mirialan, saying ‘good boy’ in the grammatical gender form for droids and AIs. “You are.”

The droid stopped shaking and bent its head to better receive the caresses.

Seventh took another sonic shower, got dressed, looked up a thing or two about female orgasm control in Togruta physiology on the HoloNet (half of the search results were medical research papers, the other half porn holovids), and walked to the bridge at a sprightly pace. Her crotch ached, but it was bearable. Brand new bacta patches padded the two injured fingers of her right hand, which didn’t even hurt anymore, and if they did Seventh wasn’t in the mood for noticing.

As soon as the blast-proof doors slid open to let her in, Fifth’s brooding mood blew into her face like a gust of high mountain wind. He stood by the viewport, shot a glance in her direction, and turned back again to gaze at the hyperspace strips of light that seeped through the obscured transparisteel panes.

Seventh strode towards him, not bothering to acknowledge the salute Admiral Konstantine stiffened himself into as she passed by him; his resentment and contempt reeked like nerf dung, and she gave a sharp tug at his pointy moustache with the Force. Her helmet’s amplifiers picked up the admiral’s stifled grunt of pain.

Luckily for him, Kallus was nowhere in sight. He must have holed up in his office doing formwork, of which the ISB never had a shortage. Or maybe he was looking at Mirialan porn, to realise what he’d missed out on. Seventh made a mental note to mock him on that account.

Standing next to Fifth felt like being in the middle of a cramped room where everyone had been smoking cigarras. Since Fifth had thrown up a barrier in their Force bond, Seventh activated the helmet faceplate and spoke into the inner comlink, “You’ll never guess why I had that vision.”

“I don’t want to know what vision, and I don’t want to know why you had it.”

“Tano has a crush on me. Ahsoka Tano.”

“Wishful thinking, Sister.”

“Oh no, no. The vision was accurate to very intimate details of the Togruta species. I couldn’t have been acquainted with those on my own.”

“Is this going to aid our search?”

“Not this time, I regret. But there might be other times. I could get her attached to me. And when that happens—”

“Mammals!” Into the comlink, Fifth grunted in revulsion. “I hope this monstrosity becomes as useful as you claim it may be.”

“Do you want to see a few highlights? I believe Tano’s lightsabers are shaped in that way for the very purpose of—”

“You are very well aware my species does neither derive any pleasure from these intercourses, nor does it need them for reproduction.”

“But can you at least agree it’s a good move to lure an enemy to us?”

A less revulsion-ridden grunt. “I can.”

Seventh reached up with her almost-healed hand and patted Fifth’s shoulder. She considered apologising for the row at the briefing, and discarded the idea; Fifth was going to try and make her pay for it during their daily sparring session, anyway.


End file.
